Karen, I’m not taking sides

It’s a sorry state of affairs when you become sick to death of hearing your own name. I feel like the second my ass hits my chair at work, the phone goes, or the intercom goes, or my boss (because this is the way she rolls) screams across the hallway. KAAAREN! This would all be well and good if I didn’t have an actual job to do.

And this job, currently, is wholey and solely taken up with organizing an international conference.

A) I am not a conference coordinator. I have never once organised a conference, let alone a conference for 50 delegates from 13 different countries. I am flying by the seat of my proverbial pants.

B) My specially printed conference satchels are currently somewhere between Sydney and Melbourne. This is because they were sent to Clarendon, VICTORIA. Yes. This has cause me some slight anxiety (cough).

C) I did not bid for this conference. In fact, I remember saying waaaaay back in October 2005, don’t think I am going to get stuck organizing this thing. Because it ain’t gonna be me. HEAR ME? NO! Yeah.

D) If the snake guy doesn’t show up on Wednesday lunch time with his various reptiles and ‘mobile snake pit’ I am going to have to find something else to fit into the category of ‘demonstration of Australian culture and wildlife’ as this is what is firmly in the conference agenda. I might have to get one of the girls to dress in a kangaroo suit and sing Waltzing Matilda or something.

E) Just in case anyone ever needs to know, I now know the answer to the questions ‘how much room does a didgeridoo player need?’ and ‘how much vodka can 5 Ukrainians drink in one night anyway?’.

F) The answer to the latter question above is a veritable fuck load, apparently. Hooray for open bars!

G) I am never organizing a conference again. I’m announcing my retirement on Friday October 26, 2007. Thereafter, that evening I will go on to see Ben Kweller at the Gaelic Club and spend the weekend with preferred company #1. Then after that I’ll go back to being a migration agent/general go to girl. And the world will rejoice.

This week is one of those weeks when music has saved me from throwing blunt implements at passers by. In the evenings I’ve been listening to the album Nebraska, and honestly, it’s the most perfect way to shed the shit of a day. I also played some Jeff Buckley today for the first time in a very, very long time. I was saying to the boy last week (I think last week) that Lover, You Should Have Come Over is one of the greatest love songs ever written. FACT.


Dear the National and Arcade Fire,

Please, announce Sydney dates, okay? Pretty please. Please don’t make me pay a million dollars to a fucking scalper on eBay for a Big Day Out ticket and the pure joy of witnessing you live.

Not that I wouldn’t, mind. But I’d moan about it a whole lot.

Yours with impatient devotion,


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